


like fire weeping from a cedar tree

by skvadern



Series: skvadern does the heart of aphrodite [7]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Bad Ending, Dark, F/M, Loss of Faith, Loyalty, The Heart of Aphrodite 2021, dragons: fantasy's nuclear bombs, king and lionheart but make it Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: So many people died today. So many people she couldn’t save.For The Heart Of Aphrodite Day 7: Obsession - Dedication - Loyalty
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Azu
Series: skvadern does the heart of aphrodite [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149617
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: The Heart of Aphrodite





	like fire weeping from a cedar tree

**Author's Note:**

> so. u know these two loving and compassionate and righteous and Good characters? what if so much shit happened that they went completely fucking sideways and. well. this.  
> title from better love by hozier which yall should listen to while thinking ab this au its a mental experience i highly recommend.

It isn’t like sand. It’s a little like snow, but the grey flakes falling from the sky are lighter than the drifts of white that Azu remembers playing in as a child, and where they land on her skin they feel powdery and a little warm. She reaches up absentmindedly to wipe the ash away, and shudders when it smears instead into a gritty mask.

She picks her way through the drifts of rubble in a daze, tripping occasionally on the debris and stumbling to right herself. Some of the things she trips over aren’t bricks or roof tiles, but Azu can’t think about that now, she just can’t.

So many people died today. So many people she couldn’t save.

With each step, her borrowed armour scrapes against her skin. It fits fine, she supposes, but after putting aside the half-plate that had been her second skin, no armour could feel comfortable. The edge of one plate keeps catching against a long gash up her arm, where her mail shirt didn’t cover. It stings bitterly, and she grits her teeth. No less than she deserves.

The healing potions Cel gave her before this fight are all spent, gone to people who needed them more. It’s fine, she’ll be fine. With the hollow ache in the heart of her, the raw-edged hole that her Goddess’s warm light once filled, she can hardly even feel the effects of the blood loss. The pain, though, that she can feel, scratching at her exhausted brain.

Suddenly, the blackened buildings around her fall away, and Azu is standing at the edge of a clear, clouded space. The earth here is baked black, patches of slippery glass gleaming dully in the ashen half-light. No structures have survived, not even foundations.

Azu takes a deep breath, then hacks it back up again as the ash catches in her dry, smoke-burned throat. Still coughing, she steps forward into the blasted emptiness, thick drifts of ash muffling the sound of her boots to nothing. The noises of the city in its death throes are so distant, so far away, and getting more . She might as well be alone, just her in an empty, burnt-out world.

No, not just her. There’s a dark shape in the haze, small but gleaming, the only bright thing in this whole battlefield. She starts towards it, feet almost going out from under her when they catch a slick plane of black glass. Azu could swear she can feel its heat through her boot, however quickly she pulls it away.

The first thing she notices when she nears him is that Hamid’s suit is spotless, no ash settling on his shoulders or his perfect curls. He’s entirely untouched by this disaster, and it gladdens her as much as it unnerves her. She opens her mouth to call his name, but the word strangles itself before she can speak it.

When he sees her, Hamid’s still face lights up, that smile that always makes him look so boyish. “Azu!” he cries, and he is so purely happy to see her, and everything is broken, nothing will ever be right again.

He runs towards her, impossibly sure-footed, and Azu’s legs finally give out. She can’t feel the pain of her knees hitting the ground, any sensation muffled and suffocated. When Hamid reaches her, throws his arms around her neck and pulls her down for a bruisingly tight hug – when did he get so strong? – she doesn’t feel that either.

“Azu,” Hamid croons, and she could swear his voice is different – deeper, more resonant, as if it’s coming from much deeper inside him. Like Apophis’ voice, all those years ago. “Love, are you okay?”

Her ribs ache as they spasm; it is not a laugh, too bitter and choked, and it soon breaks into a horrid-sounding cough. Hamid winces, fumbling in his jacket, before drawing out a little bottle. He coaxes her mouth open with a thumb, takes her jaw in one of those delicate, scaled hands and tilts her head back as he feeds her the potion. It burns all the way down her wounded throat, and even as healing magic diffuses through her body, she doesn’t feel any better.

“We need to get you back to the… well, something has to be standing, someone will have set up a hospital tent,” Hamid mutters to himself, a thumb brushing idly against her cheek. “I can wait to leave until you’re healed up and rested.”

“Leave?” Azu asks through numb lips. “But you killed Guivres. Between that and Cel’s cure… it’s over, now.” Gods, she sounds so young, so scared. “The people here will need our help, we should stay.”

Hamid shakes his head slowly, and her heart sinks. “Guivres was never the problem, I see that now. The Meritocrats, they _let_ this happen.” His handsome face twists, and there’s something underneath it that terrifies her. “Their mismanagement, their blindness. They’ve ruled this world for so long that they’ve practically fossilised. For decades, they allowed evil to grow and spread, and when every awful thing came to the surface and the world needed them to fix the mess they’d made, they vanished.” His eyes are burning, now; Azu can feel the heat digging claws into her scoured skin. “They don’t deserve their power, I see that now. You all, my friends, you helped me see, and I’m so grateful.”

His little hand on her face hurts, a melting, liquid pain, and Azu can feel the salt in her tears striping burning lines down her cheeks. It hurts, yes, but at least she can feel it. The world might be dead, but Hamid is so alive he _shines_ , and knelt before him, she feels that little bit more alive too. The aching hole that is Azu’s heart aches with how much she loves him for that.

“We can talk about it later,” Hamid is saying, his voice dipping soft. “You need to rest, Azu, and heal.” She flinches at the last word, and Hamid sighs sorrowfully, gently wiping a smear of ash off her cheek. The urge to collapse into him, bury her face in his belly and weep, almost overwhelms her.

She loves him, is the thing. This bright, brave dragon of a boy, who burned a city to the ground, who tore out his enemy’s throat with great sharp teeth. She loves him, this would-be emperor – because she’s not fool enough not to see where this is going. Her best friend.

“I’ll help you,” she whispers, and the words are raw and scorched and half a whisper. “Anything you need, Hamid.”

From the look on his face, you’d think she’d just proposed. She supposes she has, in a way. What’s marriage but binding yourself to someone, come what may?

“You would?” he murmurs, cupping her face in both hands like he’s cradling some precious gem. He loves her too, she can see it in those dark, liquid eyes. Would he burn a city for her? If he ever did, she knows with chilling certainty, she wouldn’t stop loving him.

“Of course,” she whispers, and the hole inside her tears itself a little wider. “We stay together, Hamid, you know that.” _No matter what_ , she thinks, and she wants to flinch from the knowledge of what she’d do for him, but Hamid’s holding her jaw and she doesn’t want to move out of his grasp.

Instead of moving away, she tilts her stone-heavy head down until her forehead rests against the heat of Hamid’s skull. His hair is so soft where it brushes against her raw skin. This close, she can smell the heat on him, the last traces of Guivres’ burned blood. She shuts her eyes against the points of light that have bloomed in his pupils.

“My knight,” Hamid whispers, and Azu is sure he didn’t mean her to hear it.

 _My lord_ , she thinks, and doesn’t say. She’s not that far gone. Not yet.


End file.
